24: Razorsharp
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: Modified version of '28' meme: 24 themes for one exceptional Deceptifemme. G1 OC
1. Dancing: Her Own Beat

**AN: This is a modified version of the '28' meme.**

**  
Dancing Razorsharp**  
_featuring Rodimus Prime_

Dawn flooded the streets of Autobot City, turning the city's metallic spires into burnished gold. As if on cue, Rodimus Prime exited a door in the side of the main command building, the sunlight giving his flame-painted chestplate a glory all its own.

Few 'Bots were active at this early hour, but Rodimus checked his internal chronometer; he wouldn't have long before the City was a bustle of activity. He transformed and sped off through the early morning, determined to steal a few precious moments of peace before the rigors of duty claimed him once more.

He was almost to the site of the former Lookout Mountain--Primus, the memories _that_ place held--when he stopped and transformed back into robot mode. The creek chattered to itself at his feet. A glance to his right brought the summit of Mt. St. Hilary into his scanfield, as well as the edge of the Ark's burnt-orange hulk permanently wedged in its base. Pines soared to the sky, dwarfing even his considerable height.

In the midst of birdsong and brook-burble, Rodimus' audios picked up a small growl of effort. His alert system hadn't gone off, so whoever was about was a friend, and he dropped his long-range visor over his optics in order to get a closer look.

There was nothing in the immediate area, so he set off through the trees. As he topped the ridge opposite the volcano, he looked down into the valley--the one made by the Ark's progress four million years prior--and smiled. On the wide, flat expanse before the tumble-down entrance to the Ark stood a lone Transformer, limbs splayed in graceful readiness. As he watched, the metallic form drew a shining blade that quickly became a sparkling fan as its bearer whirled it with expert hands.

The Lady Razorsharp, Rodimus mused, leaning against a massive boulder. He watched as she parried and dodged, sparring against an unseen enemy. She spun and leapt, her highly polished blade slicing the air with sharp _whocks_ that Rodimus could hear even at this distance. Her wolf's-head boots lashed out with a kick that would have caved a mech's head in, and a bloodcurdling screech poured from between her electric-blue lips as she drove her swordpoint into the ground.

Her intake filters sobbing with effort to cool her frame, Razorsharp gave her phantom enemy one last glare and retrieved her blade. Then, to Rodimus' surprise, she turned to face him unerringly. Her optics were a bright, liquid red, and they bore into Roddy's sapphire ones for an endless moment.

Rodimus let one corner of his mouth curl into a smile, and he gave her a 'thumbs-up,' a habit he had picked up from the humans. Razorsharp gracefully inclined her head in acknowledgement, then transformed into her wolf mode and took off at a run.

He stood and watched her go. She had just outpaced his scanners when his radio crackled to life.

"Metroplex to Rodimus Prime."

With a sigh, Rodimus began his trek back to the road.

-End-

* * *

_ Notes: Been a long time since I wrote in this particular universe; it's good to be back. For Razorsharp's backstory, visit Thanks for reading!_


	2. Dominant: Into the Arena

**AN: Razorsharp, in her younger days…  
**

**Dominant Razorsharp**  
_featuring Smokescreen_

_with the help of Megadeth and __a friend's__ take on the Decepticon language  
_

_Enter the arena and hit the lights  
Step up now you're in for a ride _

Razorsharp could hear them chanting. The stadium was vibrating with the sound of ringing footfalls pounding, one-two-three, one-two-three, _Ra-cha-charv, Ra-cha-charv... _

_This is war, ain't no fun and games  
We get it up, you go down in flames_

She waited with optics darkened. Her joints slid easily, having been lubricated that afternoon by Grafter, the arena mechanic. Razorsharp rolled her shoulder servos, feeling the smoothness of their response.

_Party time, going down  
You'd better not mess us around  
The stakes are rich, take a hit or stay  
The price is high, someone's gonna pay_

The matches had been easy at first—Fire-Eyes, her teacher, had told her she was to serve as an executioner for mechs judged guilty by the Council. The mechs had gibbered and cringed when she leapt upon them like a femme possessed.

"Please, _have mercy_," the last one had begged, its optics shattered, its frame bent and twisted from her blows.

"Mercy?" She snarled, having modulated her voice to its roughest, highest harpy shriek. "Go bravely to your Maker, you worthless slagdrinker!"

She had begun to make a name for herself in the Arena, and it pleased her to see the frenzy with which the currency-changers took bets on her matches. One of the most vigorous betters--and one of the largest winners--was an Autobot named Smokescreen. He caught her optic amidst the chaos of the betting cage, and had given her a barely perceptible nod. _Well done_, he seemed to say, before disappearing into the crowd.

She wondered if he would be there again, winning another fortune thanks to her skill and cunning.

_Heads I win, tails you lose  
Outta my way, I'm comin' through  
Roll the dice, don't think twice and we  
Crush  
Crush 'em_

Putting aside thoughts of the Autobot gambler, Razor moved her limbs through a series of achingly slow warm-up exercises. She tipped onto her hands and pulled first one, then the other boot into the air, then kicked them over her head and pushed up from the floor. She crouched low, then sprang up with a flying kick to the opposite wall, recalling how the same move had dispatched an Autobot sympathizer two days before. The mech was dead before he hit the ground, energon pouring from his crushed crainum.

_Looking for trouble, well you've found it  
You're a drum and we're gonna pound it_

She took in the sounds of the other combatants as they yelled taunts to each other through the bars of their holding cells. The snarl of a vicious Pred-cat sounded somewhere nearby, its shivering wail bespeaking it's three-day starvation. The prisoners were held below ground, corralled in tiny dark boxes until being flung via speed elevator into the noise, lights, and utter chaos that was the Polyhex Grand Arena. Razorsharp let the noise filter out until the ring of her fuel pump in her chest housing was all she could hear.

_Last one standing wins the fight  
Hear us scream and shout all night  
Down on the floor and eat the grit  
This is gonna hurt a little bit_

"Rachacharv."

It was not the voice of Fire-Eyes. It was a male, and Razorsharp whirled to face the owner of the voice. To her surprise, it was the Autobot, Smokescreen, who stood just beyond the bars.

"Forgive me for the interruption," he said smoothly. "I want to wish you good hunting today."

Though she usually did not make a habit of speaking to anyone before a match--except to fling a few taunts of her own--her admirers regularly flocked to her stall. The more wealthy the admirer, the more contact was allowed, but that sort of business usually came after the matches.

"_Paldies_." Thank you.

"My name is--"

She cut him off. "I know your name, Autobot. It is _Semu-xoc-crin_, 'the one who obscures.'" Razor leaned closer to the bars. "And how much have I won for you?" she purred.

He grinned. "A fortune, lady. Lost it all last night, so here I am again."

"You enjoy winning, only to lose?"

Now it was Smokescreen's turn to press in close. "It's because I know you'll always win," he grated.

She smirked and pushed away. "I trust I will not disappoint you, then."

_Now we lay you down to rest  
You'll never be more than second best  
Step inside you're in for a ride and we  
Crush  
Crush 'em_

The noise of the Arena was a thing alive, raking against her skin, rattling the joins in her armor. "Hail, worthies!" Razor called, the amplifiers in the walls making her voice heard above the din. "I live to serve! Let the challenger come forth!"

A hapless mech skidded to a stop at her feet, throwing up a shimmering tsunami of golden sand to cover her boottops. He had a patch on one wing and a deep gash in his leg was held together with temporary exo-stitches, but for the most part he was whole. Good, Razor thought, as the mech scrambled to its feet. Smokescreen would get his money's worth.

_Don't need reason, don't want names  
just a John Doe to put to shame  
step aside let me explain  
the name of the game is pain_

Prisoners were allowed one weapon, but the selection was mainly limited to something for bashing--no laser pistols or bladed implements. The mech scrambled back to fetch his weapon of choice--a huge mace--and swung it for all he was worth at Razor's head. She was not there, having executed a back flip to put herself out of range.

A flash of red and blue caught her optic, and foolishly, she turned her head. _Smokescreen?_ The next thing she knew, the world was narrowing down to a red haze of pain and rage; the prisoner had clubbed her between the shoulders, clipping the back of her helmet and nearly wrenching it off her head. She whirled on the prisoner. _Kill_, came the instruction into her processors. _Killkillkillkillkill--_

There was a huge shout from the crowd, and then hands were pulling her back. She shook her head to clear it, and saw that her hands were dripping with energon. The prisoner's chest housing was torn open, the mech's spark chamber dark and still, the face still frozen in protest.

She searched the faces of the crowd--where was Smokescreen?

A cycle later, the Arena was deserted. Her newly repaired frame aching with the pleasant weariness that came from doing her job well, Razor lounged in a corner of the fighter's compound. The other fighters who had survived joked and jeered with each other, and she was drowsing when the voices abruptly stopped.

"Rachacharv."

Powering up her optics, she saw Xeon, the ringmaster, standing beside her. "On your feet, girl," he snarled. "My apologies," he simpered to his guest. "She's a lazy good-for-nothing. She needs to be taught a lesson; may I prevail upon you--?"

Smokescreen nodded, his faceplate unreadable. "I'm sure we will come to an...understanding." He grabbed Razor by the upper arm and yanked her off the floor. "As he says, girl--on your feet."

Xeon showed Smokescreen to the luxuriously appointed inner room of the compound. The Autobot, his hand still clamped around Razor's arm, dragged the femme into the room and slammed the door in Xeon's face. He had barely turned around when Razor's hand lashed out in a slap that made his audios whine with feedback.

She shrieked something unintelligible at him, borne of humiliation and fury. He wiped the energon from his split lip. "What the slag was that for?" he demanded.

Her optics flashed. "You said it yourself: I _always_ win."

"_Why you little--_I wasn't gonna do it!" Smokescreen drew her away from the door. "I'm trying to save your life! I can get you out of here."

She jerked away. "Do you think anyone holds me here?"

"I--"

"Get out," snarled Razorsharp. "Never come here again, or the next time I see your face, _you_ will be the one I kill."

He raised an optic ridge. "And what are you gonna tell Xeon? He's expecting us to--"

Before he could form his next word, Razorsharp reached out with her claws and ripped five glowing furrows across his chestplate.

Smokescreen yelped and bit back an oath. "Primus! What'd you do that for?"

"Let Xeon think what he wishes," she spat, "but you will not have me--not pinned under your chassis and certainly not fighting your war." Razorsharp yanked open the door. "Xeon!"

Her summons brought the trainer at the run, and his optics widened at the sight of Smokescreen's damage.

Razorsharp glared back at the red-and-blue Autobot. "He is done with me."

-End-


	3. Caring: Uneasy Lies the Head

**AN: I've stretched Razor's canon a few years with this one, since she didn't arrive on the scene until well after "The Return of Optimus Prime." I'm guessing this is sometime between the movie and "The Burden Hardest to Bear."**

* * *

**Caring Razorsharp**  
_featuring Rodimus Prime, Optimus Prime, and Hot Rod_

The silver she-wolf raced through the corridors of Iacon at a flat-out run. Autobots in her path gave her a wide berth, more out of respect than fear, though there were still some suspicious glances at her progress. She ignored them and pressed on toward her destination.

SkyLynx, Blaster, Perceptor, and Kup awaited her at a door marked with a large Autobot symbol. As she drew near, she transformed and came to a smooth stop before the four Autobots. "What is his condition?" she asked.

"It's bad," Kup said succinctly. "Never seen him like this."

"The attacks are worsening," put in Perceptor. "I fear that if he does not improve..." He shook his head.

"...We may lose him," SkyLynx finished grimly.

"He's stressed out his mental processors so bad, he can't recharge," said Kup, worry deepening the lines in his aged face. "Then when he does get some shuteye, he wakes up screamin'."

Blaster stepped up. "You've got what soothes the savage beast, Lady. One touch from you, and he's off to Dreamland—without the Boogeyman taggin' along."

"What say you, Lady?" asked SkyLynx. "Can you lend us a hand?"

Razorsharp cast a glance at the door, and then looked back at the Autobots. "I'll do everything I can. I only hope it will be enough."

SkyLynx lowered his head until it was level with Razor's. "You have helped him many times in the past," he reminded her. "Logic would predict that you would at least have some chance of success."

She patted his nose. "Thank you, SkyLynx. I wish that there was something more I could do for him," she mused.

Kup smiled sadly. "That's how we all feel, Lady."

* * *

The room was dark, except for twin spots of blue at the far end of the room.

"Lights at half," she called, and slowly, the lights came up to a gentle illumination. Rodimus Prime sat slumped in his command chair, his fingers clenched tightly on the armrests as if it were the only contact holding him to the planet.

"What do _you_ want?" he growled, glaring at her from under his crested helm. "Decided that you want a piece of me, too?"

Razorsharp crossed her arms over her chestplate. "No. I have come to help you."

He snorted. "A Decepticon, help me?" He shook his head. "Look, lady, I don't know why Optimus kept you around, but you're starting to make me nervous. A lot of the others are starting to think so, too, so you might wanna hightail it outta here before you get into trouble."

"Optimus Prime was my friend," she returned smoothly, unfazed by his threat. "He took me in when I had no where else to go. In return, I pledged to help him make peace between the Decepticons and the Autobots."

"Yeah, about that," Rodimus sneered. "That didn't turn out so well, did it?"

She refused to take the bait. "Peace is a complex process. It will take time--possibly more time than you or I will be allotted in this existence."

"Well, now aren't you just Little Miss Sunshine?"

"Your words are not your own, Rodimus Prime," said Razorsharp, taking two steps closer to the flame-painted Autobot. "Let me help you."

He leveled the triple photon cannons that adorned his arm at her. "Stay away from me."

She took two more steps toward him. "Your suffering is great. You cannot bear this burden alone."

His entire frame was quivering. "N-no," he stammered. "Go away! S-stay back!"

Two more steps brought Razor within range of his arm, and she gently pushed the weapons away. "I will not hurt you, Prince Prime," she murmured, bringing her hands to either side of his helmet. "You need rest. Let go."

"I can't," he anguished, tears pooling in his optics. "I have to be strong, like he was. It's my responsibility. It's..._my fault_," he anguished, suddenly sounding much younger.

"We have discussed this before, you and I," Razorsharp said kindly. "You were very brave. You did what you thought you had to do." She wiped away his tears. "Now, let go."

"Help me, Razorsharp," he whispered. "It..._hurts_."

She smiled gently. "I know it does. Soon you can rest."

"Until the next time." Rodimus sighed through his filters. "I hate asking you to do this. If only there was some other way--"

Razorsharp's optics were glowing. "It is what I was designed to do, Rodimus Prime. I will be here as long as you need me."

The young Prime's relief was almost palpable. "Thank you."

Another smile briefly crossed her face and was gone. Razor pressed her fingers to either side of Rodimus' helmet. "Open your mind to me," she whispered. "Share your burdens, your trials, your fears with me. Know that you are not alone."

Rodimus' optics were glowing now, too. "Not...alone..."

"Never," said Razorsharp, and then all was darkness.

* * *

Razorsharp descended into Rodimus Prime's mind slowly, gently, wrapped in peace and safety. The journey was a familiar one, and sure enough, before her stood a door like the one her physical body had entered—a large portal marked with an Autobot symbol. She laid her hand on the door, and a soft violet glow surged from her to trace the lines of the sigil.

Usually this was the moment when she found herself staring into Rodimus' face, his optics dark and his body relaxed into healing sleep. This time, however, a bright aquamarine light split the symbol down the middle, and the door opened.

_What--?_

She stepped into the room, blinded momentarily by a flash of aqua light. When her vision cleared, she moved forward to a high dais, where a solid beam of brilliance soared up into the darkness. She climbed the steps of the dais to find it was topped with a waist-high pillar, which held the source of the light: The Autobot Matrix of Leadership.

In awe, Razorsharp reached out a hand to touch the glimmering jewel of captive power. It was so beautiful…

Something seized her in an unbreakable grip and pulled, hard.

She fell into the light.

* * *

Razorsharp awoke to find herself on a high, desolate peak, staring up at a sky filled with stars. Her whole body ached, and she felt drained of power.

"I would say welcome, Razorsharp, but this is no place to be welcomed to." The voice was deep and resonant, and it chased away the ache.

She got shakily to her feet, hands to her head. "Please," she cried. "Who are you?"

A tall, blocky figure limned in gentle aqua light stepped out of the shadows. He regarded her with solemn optics the color of Earth's sky. "A friend," rumbled Optimus Prime.

Something within Razorsharp twisted painfully, and she groaned. "What...what is happening to me?" The pain drove her to her knees, and she huddled on the dry, dusty ground, her arms clutched around her midsection.

Optimus knelt beside her. "Tell me, Razorsharp: Are you glad to see me?"

She looked up into his familiar, undamaged features, and laid a hand against his faceplate in wordless reply. He nodded in understanding and laid his hand against hers. Immediately they were both engulfed in cool aqua flame, and the pain disappeared.

"There is no joy in this place, Razorsharp," said Prime. "We are deep inside Rodimus' mind, where he still recriminates himself for something he did not do."

"But--the Matrix," she began. Optimus shook his head.

"The Matrix, sensing his refusal, has locked itself away from him. Without access to its wisdom, he will become so despondent that he will eventually destroy himself."

With Optimus' help, Razor got to her feet. "Is there nothing we can do to help him?"

"You have already helped him more than you realize, Razorsharp. But there is more still to be done." He held out his hands. "Come."

Without a thought, she slipped her hands into his.

The scenery instantly changed from barren and desolate to a sunlit forest, with a burbling brook and soaring pines, all under a clear blue bowl of sky. With a shock, Razorsharp realized they were not alone--a slim red robot sat upon the bank a few feet away. An ugly gash ran the width of his back.

Optimus Prime let go of Razor's hands and clanked over to sit beside the red robot. "How's the fishing today, Hot Rod?" Prime asked conversationally.

The young Autobot's optics lit up when he saw Optimus. "Just great, Prime! Daniel promised to come out here as soon as he got out of school. I can't wait!"

"Sounds like fun," Optimus agreed. "Listen, Hot Rod, there's something I need your help with. Do you think you could do something for me?"

Hot Rod's optic ridges drew together. "Well…sure. What's up?"

Optimus stood and turned to Razorsharp. "I brought a friend along to help us, too."

The young Autobot's optics widened. "Waitaminute, what's _she_ doing here?" He raised his arm threateningly, and the sunlight gleamed off the triple barrels of his weapon. "She's not allowed to be here!"

Razorsharp stepped forward. "Please," she heard herself saying. "It is as Optimus says. I'm here to help."

Hot Rod scowled. "Yeah, right. You wanna see what happened the last time you came to 'help'?" He held out his hands, and a huge golden chevron appeared from subspace. "Take a good look."

Razor's holding tanks churned; it was Hot Rod's spoiler. A scrap of crimson metal still clung to it, mute testament to the violence that had torn it from his frame. "Who did this to you?" she murmured, touching the spoiler with gentle fingers.

"_He_ did," Hot Rod gritted. "The last time you put _Him_ to sleep. _He_ left me alone for a while but..." Tears formed at the corners of his optics, and he dropped the spoiler at his feet. "_He_ says he wants to kill me."

Razorsharp's blade was in her hand. "Who said--?"

Optimus gently pushed away her blade. "It is Rodimus Prime," he rumbled.

Hot Rod hung his head. "I was just trying to help. It...just happened so fast, and all I could think about was--"

"I know, Hot Rod," Optimus said kindly. "You did your best. Megatron was desperate to win at any cost, and used your bravery to his advantage. The blame is his alone."

The young Autobot sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Try telling _Him_ that."

Optimus nodded. "That is why we need your help, Hot Rod. Will you come with us?"

For a moment, Razorsharp was sure he would refuse, but to her relief, Hot Rod picked up the spoiler and slung it over his arm. "I'm ready." He turned to Razor, hand outstretched. "Let's go."

Optimus joined their circle, and between one pulse of her fuel pump and the next, the scenery had changed again.

The chamber was dark, lit only by pale blue-white light that painted strange shadows on the curving surfaces and soaring pillars around them. "Where are we?" asked Razorsharp.

She felt more than saw Hot Rod shudder next to her. "I've been here before," he murmured.

Suddenly, the chamber was awash in brilliant rays of aquamarine. "_Looking for me?!_" snarled a voice.

As one, the three Transformers whirled to see Rodimus Prime, seated on a makeshift throne of fallen pillars. The Matrix glimmered from where it hung on a chain around his neck.

He pointed an accusing finger at Hot Rod. "I told you what would happen to you if I ever saw your scrawny aft again! And _you_," he sneered, pointing to Razorsharp, "I _knew_ I shouldn't have trusted you!"

Hot Rod cowered, but Optimus stepped foward. "Please, Rodimus!" he called. "We are here to help you! You don't have to do this alone!"

In answer, Rodimus jumped down, pinning Optimus beneath him. "I am _always_ alone!" he screamed. "You _left_ me alone! I can't do this by myself!"

Razorsharp summoned her blade and was about to charge Rodimus' undefended back when she heard a roar of rage that chilled the fuel in her lines. A flash of red and yellow knocked her off her feet; it was Hot Rod, charging for his older self, and the two made contact with a resounding clash. "No you don't, Rodimus," he snarled.

Rodimus laughed in his face. "I know how this story ends," he hissed. "But here's where I rewrite it!" He locked his hands around Hot Rod's neck and squeezed. The young one gasped; every seam began to glow bright orange as his systems began to overheat.

Razorsharp ran to Optimus' side. "We must help--"

"No," he rumbled. "This is what we came here to do."

"To let them tear each other apart?" She helped Optimus to his feet. "If Rodimus is the victor, all is lost!"

As they watched, the struggling Hot Rod grabbed wildly for Rodimus, and his hands locked on the handles of the Matrix. The chain snapped, and Hot Rod kicked Rodimus away.

Optimus' voice reverberated in the small chamber, the sound thrumming through every joint and servo in Razorsharp's body. "_Arise, Rodimus Prime._"

Dripping holy fire, Rodimus' tortured form rose from where it had fallen to hover above their heads. He smiled down at Razorsharp. "Thank you," he whispered, and disappeared.

Optimus moved to stand behind Hot Rod, his hands guiding the young one's into place on either side of the Matrix. The radiance became blinding, and Razorsharp shielded her optics. Hot Rod's slim form began to gain mass and height, and when he spoke, it was with Rodimus' voice.

"_Now, light our darkest hour!_"

Optimus' spectral form stepped forward and disappeared into Rodimus Prime.

The light was alive, but this time it held no pain, only joy. Razorsharp threw her arms wide, letting it claim her in its embrace.

* * *

Awareness returned slowly; first sound, then her optics powered up. She glanced around; surely no nightmare dreamscape looked like an Autobot repair bay.

She caught someting red and yellow out of the corner of her optic. She rolled her head to the left to bring the object into her scanfield--except it was not an object, but Rodimus Prime, his head pillowed on his arms, his optics dark, deep into recharge. With a smile, Razorsharp brushed a finger against his cheek.

"Huh?" Rodimus shook himself awake and sat back from his awkward position with a groan. Then he saw Razorsharp looking at him, and he smiled. "Welcome back, Your Ladyship."

Razor dipped her chin in greeting. "How long--"

"Three weeks," said Rodimus. "We'd almost given up on you." He took her hand in both of his. "I'm glad we were wrong."

"And the nightmares?"

"Gone--this time, for good." He lay her hand beside her once more. "Get some rest, Razorsharp. You've earned it."

She smiled faintly. "And where will you be?"

He sat back in his chair. "I'll be right here," he murmured. "You're not alone."

Razorsharp slept.


	4. Angsty: The Dying of the Light

**AN: Very AU. Character death.**

* * *

**Angsty Razorsharp**

_featuring Motormaster, Astrotrain, the Constructicons, Soundwave, and the cassettes_

She fought her way to the front lines, not stopping to look at the destruction and death all around her. The silver she-wolf ran flat out, bounding over crumbled ruins and heaps of broken bodies, scattering the living before her like so much chaff before the smelter.

"Make way!" someone shouted. "Make way for Her Ladyship!"

A temporary shelter had been hastily set up at the edge of the camp. As mortar fire thundered overhead, Razorsharp flung herself into robot mode and ran for the entrance to the shelter.

Motormaster stepped in her way, his dark, blocky frame filling the doorway. "You shouldn't see him like this, my Lady," he said solemnly, his hands outstretched.

"Let me pass," she snarled, her optics a bright, liquid red.

"He's right, my Lady," chimed Astrotrain. The triple-changer grimaced as the weld holding his knee together pulled painfully. "You don't want this in your memory banks."

She drew her blade and waved it under their noseplates. "Let. Me. Pass."

Motormaster hesitated the barest instant, then bowed and stepped away from the door as Razorsharp barrelled past him.

The interior of the shelter reeked of spilt energon and ozone, and Razorsharp's tanks gave a sudden lurch as Scavenger's voice rose in protest above the din.

"We don't have _enough!_" he shouted, the words full of pain and fury.

"But we can't just let him die!" howled Scrapper. "We--we can't..." He choked out a sob.

Scavenger's voice again, but gentle this time, comforting his brother: "There's nothing to be done, Scrapper."

Razorsharp dropped her blade to the ground, one hand to her mouth, but it was no use; the scant cupful of nourishment she'd been able to swallow came surging back up. When the ringing in her audios had cleared, she looked up to see the Constructicons grouped around her. Scavenger held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

"He's asking for you, my Lady."

With a calm she did not feel, Razorsharp let him lead her to Soundwave's side.

Rumble was sobbing. Frenzy looked as if he could cheerfully dispatch an entire Autobot battalion to Hellas and come back for seconds. Ratbat hovered overhead, keening in anguish. Ravage alone sat quietly beside his master's frame, his own plating splashed with Soundwave's lifeblood. The panther dipped his head in respect as Razorsharp approached, and then nudged Soundwave's shattered faceplate gently with his nose.

Soundwave's ruby optic band was cracked in three places where the shrapnel had hit him, but it glowed steadily on the right side even as it flickered on the left. His chest housing was an absolute ruin; his cassettes had been lucky that they were engaged in the battle, or all of them would have been lost.

That knowledge was little comfort to Razorsharp, or any of the cassettes, as they drew near to watch him die.

At Ravage's touch, the communications tech rolled his head toward her Razorsharp. The Deceptifemme moved slowly to his side, as if she were in a dream and waiting to wake up. After a few moments, she sank down beside him and took his huge hand in hers, and pressed it to her cheek. "Noble Soundwave," she whispered. "Oh, not you."

His melodic harmonizer had been silenced by his injuries, but his telepathic sense curled around her. _I am sorry, my Lady,_ his voice echoed in her mind.

"It was not your fault," she soothed. "You were never meant for this war."

_I joined your cause of my own free will,_ he corrected her. _I pledged my life to you. I have fulfilled my vow. _

"Don't," whispered Rumble. "Please, Soundwave, don't."

_Take care of them, my Lady._ His mental touch was fading as his energy drained away. _Take care of my children. Lead the Decepticons to their destiny._

Razorsharp's tears were flowing freely. "How will I do that without you by my side? You taught me of the great Megatron's ways." She kissed the lifeless fingers that were twined in her own. "Please, Soundwave, don't leave me. I need you."

She caught an impression of a smile. _There is nothing more I need teach you. Go with Primus, Lady._

And with that, the light faded from his optic band.

Ravage threw back his head and roared out his grief.

After a few moments, Razorsharp calmly folded Soundwave's hand beside his shattered frame. She stood slowly, and then touched her fingertips to a puddle of Soundwave's spilt energon. With great deliberation, she drew a line through the Decepticon symbol on her chest with the glowing substance, then two glowing lines on either cheek in the traditional symbol of mourning.

She turned to those assembled. "Come. We go to avenge the death of our brother."

They took no prisoners.


	5. Obedient: Love's Sacrifice

**Obedient Razorsharp**  
_featuring Optimus Prime and Elita-1_

Optimus Prime looked up from the datapad in his hand. "This is dangerous. No guarantees we'll be able to get you out of there, if you get into trouble."

Under the harlequin markings, Razorsharp's face was as composed and enigmatic as a sphinx. Her optics were vivid ruby against the painted mask, and they glimmered in the light. "I understand, Optimus Prime," she intoned solemnly.

"Very well, then." Prime signed his name to the authorization with a flourish that made it unforgeable, then handed the pad back to Razorsharp. "You have your orders."

Razorsharp bowed her head in respect, and was gone.

* * *

Later that night, Prime stood on the balcony of the quarters he shared with Elita-1. He stared up into the sky, hands on the railing. "I don't like it," he murmured.

Elita slipped her hands around his waist from behind. "Why not?" she queried, laying her head against his broad back. "You don't trust her?"

He hesitated a microsecond too long. "It's not that I don't trust her," he explained. "I just...worry about her." He turned around and took Elita's hands in his own. "Razorsharp's tough, but she's all alone, and I can't help her."

Elita disengaged her hands from her mate's and lifted his chin with gentle fingers. "You're right, she _is_ tough. But do you want to know the real reason she risks her hide? Why she volunteers for the most dangerous missions? Why she's always the first to step up, even when the toughest warhorses stand back?"

He cocked his head at her in silent question.

She chuckled. "You're so close you can't even see it."

His titanium brows drew together. "See what? 'Lita, you're not making sense."

Elita drew him back into the room and shut the transparisteel door behind them, the clear panel darkening automatically for privacy. She reached up and carefully unlatched the battlemask that hid his compassionate features from all but herself, and stroked his unarmored cheek. His optics dimmed in contentment as she brought her face close to his.

"Don't you see, Pax?" she whispered. "She's in love with you, too."


	6. Book Reading: Aesthetics and Atmosphere

**AN: My own little homage to Peter Cullen's voice acting.**

* * *

**Book Reading Razorsharp**  
_featuring Perceptor, Optimus Prime, and Omega Supreme_

"So you see, your Ladyship, the whole thing is quite complex." Perceptor laid the datapad on his desk between them. "However, I have endeavored to explain, as you asked. Is it satisfactory?"

Razorsharp nodded slowly, as if still considering his words. "Yes, I believe so." She stood, Perceptor following a split-second later. "Thank you," she murmured. "You have been most helpful."

The scientist smiled. "This is one area where my expertise is limited, but I myself have made a study of the same subject. I find it very fascinating." He reached down and retrieved the pad, but held it in both of his hands for a moment, lost in thought. Razorsharp waited patiently, until at length Perceptor looked up at her with wide optics, as if he had just had a moment of revelation.

"May I make a suggestion, your Ladyship?"

* * *

The words on the readout in front of him were beginning to blur when the hailing chime sounded at the door to Optimus Prime's office. He shook his head to clear it and rolled his shoulders back to ease the stiffness that had set in.

"Come."

The door slid back on its silent runners to admit Razorsharp, who bore a datapad in one hand and a look of quiet expectancy on her harlequin-marked face. "Good evening, Optimus Prime."

The Autobot leader stood. "Good evening, your Ladyship. Won't you sit down?" he asked politely, gesturing to the chair before his desk.

"Thank you." Razorsharp gracefully folded into the chair, and she laid the datapad on Prime's desk as he returned to his seat. "My apologies for the interruption."

He chuckled and shut off the monitor, which sank down until it became flush with the desktop. "Not at all; I could do with some interruption right now. What can I do for you?"

She gestured to the datapad. "My question concerns that which is before you."

With a mental shrug, Optimus took the indicated object in hand and read the first few lines of the document it contained. After a moment, he looked up at Razorsharp as if trying to discern her intent by her serene posture. He could not, and so regarded her with a curious stare.

Razorsharp's lips curved upward the barest millimeter. "Do not worry, Optimus Prime; Perceptor has given me a very thorough explanation of the subject matter." She dropped her gaze to the desk for an instant, then returned it to that of the Autobot leader. "I would consider it a personal favor if you would read that aloud."

Prime frowned, worry written in the part of his face not covered by the battlemask. "Are your optics malfunctioning?"

She shook her head. "No, they are functioning perfectly. What Perceptor suggested had rather more to do with...aesthetics and atmosphere, if you will."

Prime thought a moment more, and then handed the datapad back to Razorsharp. "I'll do what you ask, but only on one condition--that you meet me at the Eastern gate of the City at 0500 tomorrow morning."

Her optics widened a bit in surprise. "0500, yes, of course." She stood and collected the pad. "Until then."

* * *

Prime idled in truck mode near the Eastern gate of the city, smoke rolling out of his stacks to wreath his cab in ghostly shadows. At precisely 0500 by his internal chronometer, a metallic silver she-wolf bounded into the beam of his headlights.

"Good morning, your Ladyship." The passenger-side door to his cab swung open. "Hop in; we're going for a ride."

Razorsharp bounded up onto the seat and settled herself comfortably. Prime shut the door, and they were on their way into the pre-dawn Oregon countryside.

They rode in silence for a time, leaving the lights of Autobot City as well as the human settlements far behind. The road gained more twists and turns, and Razor felt Prime shift into a lower gear; they were climbing into the mountains.

"We're nearly there," said Prime, almost as if he had heard Razorsharp's thoughts.

Soon they were stopping at the side of a well-used road. Prime opened the door so Razorsharp could jump down, and then the Autobot leader transformed into his blocky robot mode. "We'll go on foot from now on," he said, and led the way through the trees.

The sky was beginning to show streaks of grey on the horizon by the time Prime paused at the top of a ridge and cupped his hands on either side of his faceplate. "Omega!" he called, the sound startling a bird in the ancient tree over their heads. "Omega Supreme! It's Prime!"

The ground under Razorsharp's paws trembled under the impact of huge, heavy feet, and she stepped back in awe at the sight of the massive orange-and-grey Guardian that approached through the pine forest.

"Your call: heard," boomed Omega Supreme. "Companion: unknown."

Prime turned to Razorsharp, who transformed into robot mode. "Omega, this the Lady Razorsharp. She asked me for a special favor, and I thought you'd be interested, too."

The gargantuan Autobot regarded Razorsharp solemnly from behind his faceshield. "Presence: allowed. Proceed."

Prime held out his hand, and Razorsharp retrieved the datapad from subspace and gave it to him. "If I remember correctly, this is one of your favorites, Omega," said Optimus. The Autobot leader waited until the other two had sat (or in Omega's case, thudded) on the forest floor, and then began to read in his deep, sure rumble:

"_Genesis, chapter 1. _

"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  
Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep,  
and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters."

The sky was suddenly split open by tongues of fire, orange and scarlet and rose all melting together, spilling down over the mountains to gild the pines in purest gold.

"_And God said, "Let there be light,_"" Prime murmured, his voice full of the same wonder that was on the faces of his companions. "_And there was light._"


	7. Listening: The Wee Small Hours

AN: This is set shortly after "The Return of Optimus Prime."

24: Listening Razorsharp  
_featuring Optimus Prime_

Iacon was quiet as Razorsharp lay down upon her recharge bunk. She offlined her optics and was nearing shutdown when a warm, bass voice rumbled over her subspace radio.

_Are you still awake?_

Her electric-blue lips curved in a faint smile; she knew that the impression would transmit.

In turn, she caught the impression of a chuckle. _I suppose that answers my question._

A vague feeling of unease lay behind the words, and Razorsharp shifted, sending a silent query.

_Still getting used to all this,_ came the reply. _It'll just take a while, that's all._

Razorsharp sighed through her filters. She rolled on to her side, powering up her optics to stare at her darkened quarters. _Do not fear,_ she chimed.

_I'm not afraid,_ came the reply, a little too quick for it to be the truth. _I know there's a difference between dead and asleep. I just...need to remember what it is._

_This is your first night,_ she soothed. _Give it time._

He was silent for a while, but the sub-audible hum of the channel remained, signaling that he was not yet asleep. _It's colder than I remember._

_Perhaps your sensors need recalibration,_ she mused. _Your Quintesson 'friend' was hired for speed, not for finesse._

_No,_ he said, with the impression of a sigh. _It's the Matrix. I used to hear it, feel it...but now there's nothing but echoes._

Tears began at the corners of her optics. _You said it yourself,_ she reminded him. _We are all wiser. We must fill it, day by day._

_I know._

Razorsharp waited, but Optimus was quiet, lost in his own roiling thoughts. _The humans have a saying,_ she ventured into the silence. _'Shigata ga nai.' It means 'it cannot be helped.'_

_I've heard that,_ mused Optimus. _Only I heard it as, 'what cannot be cured must be endured.'_

She gave a mental shrug. _Good advice in any language._

They were silent for a while, and Razorsharp was almost into recharge when the Autobot leader's inner voice rumbled along the radio.

_Goodnight, your Ladyship._

_Goodnight, Optimus Prime._

_**-END-**_


	8. Jealous: The Secret

**Jealous Razorsharp**  
_featuring Elita-1 and Optimus Prime_

Though the Central Archive was closed to most of the populace at this hour, Elita-1, as commander of a crack team of Autobot femmes, could access the Archive at any cycle. Gedronix, the old librarian, was long into recharge, but his young assistant looked up from her monitor as the transparisteel doors parted to admit Elita.

The assistant smiled up at the tall, deep-rose plated femme. "Good evening, Commander."

Elita nodded in greeting. "Hello, Cliolex. Is Her Ladyship still about?"

Cliolex consulted her terminal. "Yes, she's here. She's on level three, it looks like-Yes, that's her login." The aqua-plated femme tapped the screen, where a small red dot blinked next to Razorsharp's name. "Shall I page her for you?" Cliolex reached toward the public address key, but Elita was already moving toward the bank of elevators.

"No, that's all right," Elita called over her shoulder. "I'll find her."

The doors closed over Elita. The lift hummed to life, and Cliolex watched the car's upward progress through the clear tube.

The aqua femme shook her head. "Good luck," she murmured, turning back to her monitor.

Elita stepped off the elevator and into the twilight expanse of the main archive. The low lighting turned shelves and racks into strange, forbidding shapes that loomed out of the darkness. Placed at strategic points within the stacks, information kiosks hummed at idle, their screens decorated with rotating Autobot symbols. Study carrels lined the walls, their lights dark and their screens blank. A maintenance droid cruised by, riding on its rotating buffers as it polished the day's traffic from the floor.

At the very rear of the building, two large, brilliantly lit windows looked out upon the stacks like the golden optics of a massive sentinel. Elita smiled to herself; in some ways, the Archive was very much alive, giving counsel, imparting knowledge, and providing entertainment through its millions of volumes. The feeling that a benevolent consciousness marked her progress was a comforting one, and it lingered as Elita made her way toward the windows.

As Elita drew nearer, she could see a lone femme sitting in one of the windows, bent over a workstation. The femme's ruby optics were fixed on the readout in front of her, and the soft blue-white light from the terminal cast her harlequin markings in even greater contrast than their usual wont. Her electric-blue lips were set in a solemn line of concentration as her fingers moved nimbly over the input board.

Elita crossed the line where the gloom of the stacks ended and the square of light thrown by the windows began, letting her tread become slightly heavier in order to warn of her approach. Sure enough, Razorsharp raised her head and glanced to the windows at her right. Elita thought she caught a flicker of irritation in Razor's optics at the interruption, but it did not show on the former Deceptifemme's faceplate as Elita stepped into the warm, well-lit lab.

"Good evening, your Ladyship," said Elita, inclining her head slightly in respect.

"Good evening, Commander." Razorsharp returned Elita's greeting with a nod of her own. "How may I assist you?"

Barely in time, Elita suppressed a frown at Razorsharp's formal speech. The former Deceptifemme had lived among the Autobots for the last Terran decade-not very long by Cybertronian standards-but Elita still felt as if she did not really know Razorsharp. Since Optimus had granted an outcast Razorsharp amnesty within the ranks of the Autobots, Elita had exchanged few words with her. With a shock, Elita realized that the bulk of her knowledge about Razorsharp came from Optimus, who worked with her on a regular basis to preserve Decepticon records uncovered during the rebuilding of Cybertron.

"I've decided to undertake a project, and I need your help." Elita smiled. "When I told Optimus Prime what I was planning, he told me you were just the person for the job."

Razorsharp looked up at the Autobot femme for a moment as if deciding how to answer. "That is quite a compliment," she said finally.

"I haven't even told you what it is yet," said Elita, still smiling. "I hope you still feel that way afterwards."

"What is it that you wish to do?"

Elita's smile took on a solemn cast. "I want to learn the Decepticon language."

If this request had surprised Razorsharp, she showed no sign of it. In fact, so serene was the blue-and-violet femme before her that Elita was beginning to wonder if Razorsharp had purposely had her emotional relays disabled. The unflinching ruby gaze was just a little unnerving, and Elita crossed her arms, determined to resist the urge to fidget.

"Oh, I know the odd word or phrase," Elita continued, partly to fill the silence. "Living on an occupied planet, you have to figure out _some_ of the vernacular just to get by." Her smile returned, though it was more of a wry grin this time. "Not to mention the swear words we all picked up from Shockwave's lackeys."

This finally elicited a reaction from Razorsharp; a slight, bemused curling of her mouth as if recalling some private joke. Elita realized she was seeing firsthand what Optimus had dubbed 'the Decepticon smile.' "I know precisely which words you mean, Commander," said Razorsharp.

"Funny how those are the words that stick," said Elita. "I still catch myself saying 'syrzanah mi'q'orak' from time to time-though I'm thankful that few outside my femme squadron know what that means," she added, as Razorsharp's optic ridges lifted slightly.

"It is indeed language that I would not expect to hear from the mate of the Prime," Razor said coolly. "Although there are times when telling an irritating person to 'go interface with the Chaos-Bringer' is...appropriate."

Elita laughed. "It doesn't translate very well, does it?" She uncrossed her arms and spread her hands wide. "That's precisely why I want to learn the language. Not the half-slang version we picked up living in the Wastes, but how it truly is."

Razorsharp sat back, crossing one heavy booted leg over the other, the edges of her mouth curving more deeply. "To hurl insults in battle with even greater precision, perhaps? Coming from you, such a thing would indeed stop any Decepticon in their tracks."

Elita's mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief; Razorsharp was teasing her. "I'll keep that in mind," the Autobot femme said dryly, "but no, that wasn't my original intention."

"Then why?" Razorsharp tilted her head slightly. "The use of the language has all but become extinct since Cybertron was...liberated...by Rodimus Prime."

"Autobots and Decepticons are two halves of the same whole," Elita replied, making sure to keep her voice even. "That's one of the reasons why Optimus asked you to do what you're doing-to preserve a piece of Cybertron's heritage that otherwise might be lost. I'd like to do my part in bringing the two halves together."

For a long moment, Elita was sure that Razorsharp would lapse into the femme she had heard about from Optimus; a Razorsharp who was every inch her name. The blue-and-violet archivist regarded Elita with another unwavering ruby stare, and the silence stretched out between them.

Suddenly the ruby optics lowered to the workstation. "Very well, Commander." Razorsharp gestured to a nearby chair. "I will teach you."

"Please, call me Elita." The Autobot femme moved the chair around the edge of the desk and sat at Razorsharp's left elbow.

"Then I am Razorsharp." Her fingers began tapping keys. "Or, as I am known in my native language, _Rachacharv_."

Elita tilted her head. "Would you say it again? Consider it my first lesson."

"_Rrha-scha-scharrv_," the Deceptifemme enunciated. "The stress is on the last syllable."

"Rah-shah-shahv," Elita repeated, attempting to mimic Razor's pronunciation. "It doesn't sound as beautiful as when you say it."

"For an Autobot unaccustomed to the tones, it was an admirable attempt," Razor said, her Decepticon smile reappearing. "As with any skill, practice is key."

They fell silent for a moment as Razor continued to call up instructional trax. Elita considered the face in profile before her. "Does your name have a specific meaning?" the Autobot femme asked.

Razor kept her optics on the terminal. "Yes. It means 'bright blade.' My teacher, the great Fire-Eyes, gave it to me when I began to train in the Arena."

"Did you have a name before that?"

Now Razor flicked her gaze over Elita for a moment before turning back to her work. "I was called 'Skydancer.'" She snorted. "It was very simplistic, but considering who named me, it is not altogether surprising."

"It was Starscream, wasn't it?" Elita's voice was solemn. Razor's hands faltered for the barest instant, then continued their elaborate dance.

"Optimus Prime is telling tales," Razor mused. "But yes; it was the Traitor who named me." She hit the 'process' key with slightly more force than was necessary. "May Primus guard his spark."

* * *

"Cliolex told me I'd find you two here," said a bass voice, and both femmes looked up into the reflective faceplate of Optimus Prime. "Good evening, your Ladyship, Commander."

Razorsharp inclined her head. "Hail, Optimus Prime."

Elita's optics glowed softly as they took in the massive frame of her mate. "Hello there," she said, a note of pleasure in her voice that had not been there before. "We didn't hear you come in." She laid down her stylus next to the datapad where she had been copying Decepticon glyphs. "What time is it?"

"Late," said Optimus, a rueful chuckle at the edge of his harmonizer. "I was just leaving CenCom and I thought I'd walk you home."

The femme commander stretched her arms above her head and smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea." She stood and turned to Razorsharp. "What about you, Razorsharp, are you leaving?"

"Not at this present moment." The Deceptifemme gestured to a pile of unlabeled trax. "I have much work to do."

"It can wait until tomorrow," Elita began, but Optimus laid a hand on his mate's shoulder. Out of the corner of her optic, Razorsharp caught Optimus' small shake of the head. Elita frowned, concern darkening her finely wrought features. "Well, then-shall we continue our lessons tomorrow evening, same time?"

The Deceptifemme's expression was the picture of serene dignity. "Of course. Have a pleasant evening."

"Same to you, Lady," chimed Optimus. He made an 'after you' gesture to his mate, and she smiled and exited the lab, Optimus a mere half-step behind.

Jealousy bit deeply into Razor's core as she watched Elita slip her pale pink hand into Optimus' huge blued-steel one. Razorsharp dimmed her optics momentarily in an attempt to bring the unwelcome feelings under control.

Over the course of the last few Terran years, the feelings had grown stronger, to the point where she could no longer ignore them-in fact, the more she tried, the worse the situation became. She found herself looking forward to the brief meeting each lunar cycle when she reported the state of the Decepticon archives to the Autobot leader, who listened attentively to her challenges and made thoughtful suggestions. He had never treated her as if she were beneath his notice, or just one more item to tick off on his daily log. Though its appearances were rare, Razorsharp found that Optimus Prime had a dry sense of humor, and yet there were times when the Autobot leader seemed very weary. Above all, Optimus Prime had a deep sense of honor, and possessed a seemingly bottomless well of patience and compassion for those under his command.

Her processor knew it was not uncommon for the saved to hold the savior in special regard, but this...this was beyond mere gratitude for granting her sanctuary.

Shame welled up inside of Razorsharp. She stared fixedly at the terminal, where the cursor blinked placidly at the end of a line of Decepticon text. She waited until the elevator hummed, signaling the Autobots' departure from the floor, before she sagged on to her elbows, hands over her optics.

* * *

"_Pohl-deiise_," said Razorsharp, stretching out the syllables of the word.

"Pal-dees," replied Elita, then shook her head. "No, that's not right. _Pohl-deez_."

"Better." Razorsharp handed her the stylus and pushed a datapad toward the Autobot femme. "Now, write the glyph."

Elita bent to her task and presented the pad to Razorsharp. After a few moment's scrutiny, Razorsharp nodded. "Improved," the Deceptifemme pronounced. "It has only been two Terran weeks, and you have learned much."

"_Paldies_," Elita replied, a smile playing about her pale pink lips.

Razorsharp returned the smile. "_Navpar'ko._"

"_Nahv-par-koh,_" echoed Elita. "For some reason, that one was easier."

"I find it interesting that Autobots seem to have difficulty with the lower vowel sounds," mused Razorsharp, as she erased the datapad with a tap of her fingertip against the tech input. "Whereas some of the harsher consonants are grasped more readily."

"You sound pretty convinced; you should ask Optimus Prime to authorize a research project." Elita smiled. "As the humans say, wouldn't that be a feather in your cap?"

Startled, Razorsharp was about to utter a protest when Elita's communicator chimed. "Excuse me," said the Autobot femme, and her optics gained the unfocused look that denoted her access of her internal display. She broke into a wide smile, chuckling at the message.

"As the humans say, 'speak of the devil,'" Razor said smoothly, as Elita shook herself back to awareness.

Elita grinned at her tutor. "Is it that obvious?"

Razorsharp's Decepticon smile appeared. "Your devotion is unique among the ranks," was her enigmatic reply.

"Yes," Elita mused, tapping the null end of her stylus against the tabletop. "I suppose it is." Her face darkened. "We're lucky. Chromia still talks about Ironhide as if she saw him yesterday; I don't think she'll ever get over him. Since Inferno's planning to stay on Earth, I guess Firestar's all right with having a long-distance relationship. As for Moonracer and Powerglide-well, I don't think they'll ever speak to each other again."

"I have heard talk of Powerglide and his human 'girlfriend.'" Razor snorted. "Fools, both of them."

Elita shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go so far as to call Powerglide a fool, but it does make one wonder. I know Optimus worries for him."

"Why?"

The Autobot femme smiled sadly. "When Prime's team awoke on Earth nearly thirty Terran years ago, they made friends with three humans-Sparkplug, Spike, and Carly. Sparkplug-Spike's progenitor-was at the halfway point of his lifespan at that time, and is now nearing the end of his lifespan. Consequently, his body is beginning to break down, and soon, he will cease to function." She shook her head. "When that happens, many Autobots will grieve his loss."

"And Powerglide will face a similar loss," Razorsharp mused. "I understand."

Elita's optics remained fastened unseeing on the tabletop. "I knew the moment Optimus died," she murmured, an echo of pain lapping at the edge of her words. "I felt it. And then when Ultra Magnus came to tell me, I saw Rodimus behind him, and..." She trailed off with a sigh. "No one needed to say anything. None of us _could_." She looked up, her optics wells of ultramarine. "Tell me, Razorsharp-was it like that when they told you that Straxus had been killed?"

Razorsharp went stock still as a dark tide of memory washed over her. "Why do you wish to know this?" she asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," said Elita. "It's none of my business, I know." She drew the datapad to her and began to recopy a line of glyphs. "Shall we continue?"

A blue-plated hand covered the datapad, and Elita looked up into Razor's harlequin-marked face. "I will answer, Lady Elita," the Deceptifemme whispered, relapsing into her previous formal speech. "How shall I describe it-it was like dying, and yet knowing I would continue to live, only to die again the next moment. It seemed to go on and on." She shook her head. "It was a long time before I felt I could claim any sort of sanity."

Elita uttered a short, mirthless laugh. "I know the feeling."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Elita turned to Razorsharp. "Do you think you will ever mate again?"

Almost out before the words were out of Elita's harmonizer, Razorsharp was shaking her head. "No," she said emphatically. "Never."

"It must get awfully lonely for you," said the Autobot femme. "How long has it been? Ten years? More?"

"Ten years, six months, and twenty-two days." Razorsharp looked up at Elita. "My internal chronometer is always accurate."

"Are you even seeing anyone?" Elita started to say something, then stopped. "I was going to say, I could probably introduce you to someone, but-"

"-but who would want to attach their affections to the former _bheancoran_ of the Governor of Darkmount?" Razorsharp let a grim smile ghost across her lips. "Let us be truthful with one another, Lady Elita."

The femme commander laughed uneasily. "Guess I really stuck my foot in it that time-but believe me when I say I meant no disrespect." She smiled. "I think I'm not very far off when I say that many in Iacon find you attractive, but would never dream of approaching you."

Razor arched an optic ridge. "This is news to me. But as usual, my faction-"

"-No, it's something else," Elita cut in. "You've been among the Autobots so long, I don't think many people think of you as 'The Enemy' now." Elita sat back and folded her arms across her chestplate, and Razor caught a fleeting glimpse of Optimus Prime in the gesture. "You keep everyone at arm's length, so they don't think they have a chance at getting through to the real you."

"Very astute," said Razorsharp dryly. "Next you will be telling me that I should open up and get in touch with my feelings. What do the humans call it?-_therapy_. My inner self has been injured and only wants care and concern for it to heal so I can become my 'true' self." Her optics narrowed. "Please, Lady, spare me your Autobot sentimentality."

Elita sat silently through her tutor's low-voiced tirade, and then sighed through her filters. "Well, he _did_ warn me you would say that," she mused.

Razorsharp felt her fuel run cold. "You...discussed my private life with Optimus Prime?"

Elita uncrossed her arms and reached out to touch Razorsharp's knee. "It wasn't meant to be gossip," Elita reassured the former Deceptifemme. "Optimus knows much more about you than I do-he's known you for a lot longer, for one thing. And he seems to have a good handle on your personality, so I just went on a sort of fact-finding mission." She smiled disarmingly. "Razorsharp...I'd like to be your friend, and friends get to know one another."

Several moments of silence passed between them, until Elita withdrew her hand and sat back. Razorsharp remained absolutely still, her processor whirling.

"It is true that Optimus Prime knows a great deal about me," Razor began. "He is wise and kind; I have never known him to be unfair or injust. He is a great warrior, but I also believe that he yearns for peace even as he prepares for battle." She dimmed her optics, wanting to hold the words in, but her emotions were like a river overflowing its banks, threatening to sweep her away. "He has defended me to his soldiers many times, and he is the only one among the Autobots who looks past this-" she brushed her fingers against the Decepticon symbol on her chest, "-to even approach understanding what lies beneath." She bowed her head, dropping her hands into her lap. "I am indebted to him for my very life, and I have sworn to do what I can to forward his mission to bring peace to Cybertron."

Another silence stretched out between them, this one longer and more thoughtful. Then Elita spoke, her voice very soft:

"You've been in love with him for a long time, haven't you?"

Razorsharp's head shot up even as tears of shame began at the corners of her optics. "I-"

Elita raised a hand to silence her. "Please, Lady, as you say, let us be truthful with one another." A smile flitted across her face, but didn't stay there. "Prime is indeed all of those kind things you said about him, but there is one point where you do Prime a disservice."

Razorsharp drew her optic ridges together in silent question, and this time Elita's smile stayed in place.

"Your Ladyship, Prime may be a mated mech, but his optics still function perfectly; he may be the leader of the Autobots, but his discernment routines still function outside of CenCom or the battlefield."

Shame pierced Razorsharp like her own sword as she faced Elita's calm, cool gaze. "_He knows,_" Razorsharp whispered.

"For a long time," Elita assured her. "Personally, I think he's flattered." She reached out and touched Razorsharp's hand. "Please, Razorsharp, don't let go of your love for Prime because of me. Instead, just shift it a little." Her smile faded slightly. "I know it's going to hurt for a while, but I think you'll find that you'll get even more out of your relationship when you stop beating yourself up about it."

Razorsharp wiped away her tears with trembling hands. "It will take time to get used to..._thinking_ differently."

Elita nodded. "I know. But in the meantime, just appreciate the fact that Prime is on your side-and now, so am I. Okay?"

The former Deceptifemme raised her head and fixed Elita with a ruby-red gaze. "As you say."

"Good." Elita turned back to the datapad and picked up her stylus. "Now, can you show me that last glyph again? I always seem to get it wrong."

Standing just inside the line of shadows, Optimus Prime watched the two femmes work together, Autobot and Decepticon occasionally sharing a smile. He lingered a moment more and then turned to go, thanking Primus for both dear friend and beloved mate.

-End-


	9. Silly: People are Strange

**Silly Razorsharp**  
_featuring Jazz, Rodimus Prime, Perceptor, and Powerglide  
also featuring Cobalt Blue and Quartermile, two of my original characters_

"You wish me to do _what_?"

Razorsharp frowned, looking from the datapad in her hand to Perceptor's placid face.

"Sympathetic training," the scientist repeated. "The fusing of the mind of a Cybertronian lifeform to the body of a human." He smiled. "It's relatively painless, and carries minimal risk of failure."

"_Minimal-_"

"Well, _nothing_ is entirely foolproof," Perceptor went on. "But Optimus Prime believes that the ability to view the conflict from the humans' point of view outweighs the negligible risks-"

She held up a hand. "This process was experimental up until recently, was it not?"

He looked a little abashed, but it was more from being interrupted than anything else. "Well, yes, but when we were able to successfully retrieve Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Arcee and Springer, I began to research the process in earnest. Then when I presented my findings-"

She quelled the urge to wrench his scope from his shoulder and wrap it around his neck. "This is mandated by Optimus Prime, yes?"

"Yes. It's compulsory for everyone with security clearance level five and above, on a two-year rotation."

"I see." Razorsharp signed the pad with the stylus attached to it, then pushed the pad into Perceptor's hands.

"Thank you, your Ladyship," said Perceptor. His respectful nod wasn't quite a bow, but she understood his intent and dipped her chin once in acknowledgement. He took a half-step back before turning away from her, and then stopped at the door. "Tomorrow morning, then, 0600-and please be prompt."

Razorsharp arrived at Perceptor's facility at precisely 0555, by her internal chronometer. She glanced at the duty readout on the wall; apparently she was to be joined in this fool's errand by Rodimus Prime. The other high-security attendee was an Autobot named Jazz, and the name sparked a memory of Optimus Prime mentioning the mech in conversation. Those whose names she did not recognize-Cobalt Blue, Quartermile, and Powerglide-all seemed to be on a four-year rotation due to their lower security clearance.

"Greetings, Lady Razorsharp," said Perceptor, affable even at this early hour. "The others should be arriving shortly-ah, Rodimus Prime, good morning." He turned back to continue typing commands into his terminal, but Razorsharp turned to acknowledge the Prince Prime with a nod.

"'Morning, Perceptor," replied the flame-painted Autobot. "Good morning, your Ladyship." He looked over at the six Transformer-sized cylinders standing against the wall, which were all linked to the main computer via a massive river of cable. "I hope this is better than the first time," he commented, sounding as if he were only half-joking.

"The process has been refined considerably since then, Rodimus Prime," sniffed Perceptor, finishing a complicated string of code. "There." He fiddled with a few of the dials on the console, and then turned back to Rodimus and Razor with a chipper smile. "All is in readiness. We merely await the arrival of our subjects."

"Okay, Dr. Frankenstein," Rodimus murmured, low enough so only Razorsharp could hear. When she cocked her head in puzzlement, he shook his head. "Forget it. It'd take too long to explain."

The door slid open, and a black-and-white Autobot clanked into the room. His optics were covered with a sapphire visor that glimmered from under his black helm, and he broke out into a grin when he spotted Perceptor.

"Perceptor, my man!" He gave the scientist a hearty clonk on the shoulder. "Been a long time; how's it goin'?"

The other mech seemed genuinely pleased to see the newcomer. "Very well, Jazz, thank you. And you?"

"Primus is in his heaven, and all's right with the world." Jazz turned to Rodimus, hand outstretched. "Good to see you too, Roddy."

The young Prime smiled at the saboteur's use of the nickname. "Likewise." He shook hands with Jazz (another habit borrowed from the humans, Razor thought idly) and then turned to the Deceptifemme. "Jazz, allow me to present the Lady Razorsharp, our chief Decepticon archivist. Your Ladyship, this is Jazz, our Chief Intelligence Officer."

Jazz sketched a gallant bow. "Prime didn't tell me I'd have the pleasure of workin' with such a beautiful lady." He straightened with a grin. "At your service."

A warm rush of goodwill flooded over Razorsharp, and it took a few microseconds for her to realize that it was coming from Jazz. To her surprise, she found herself chuckling softly. "Thank you, Commander."

At the sound of his title, the black-and-white Autobot made a face. "Just 'Jazz,' ma'am," he corrected. "If you start yellin' for the Commander, I'll never hear ya."

"Very well, _J'has_." She pronounced his name with the Decepticon inflection, and the corners of Rodimus' mouth twitched upward to see Jazz' confusion.

"What'd she call me?" the saboteur asked Perceptor.

"It means 'sound and light,'" Perceptor translated. "Quite appropriate."

At that moment, a thread of badly-sung melody drifted toward them from the hallway:

_With the lights out, it's less dangerous  
Here we are now, entertain us  
I feel stupid and contagious  
Here we are now, entertain us_

Another voice broke in above the squalling din. "All right, you two screwheads, get in there!"

The doors opened to admit a blue-plated femme, her arm linked with a tall red-plated mech. "Helloooo party people!" called the femme, throwing her other hand into the air.

"'All right, you primitive screwheads, listen up,'" began the mech, turning to the femme. She grinned wickedly.

"'_This is my BOOMSTICK!_'" they both yelled in chorus, and promptly collapsed against each other in helpless laughter. The mech grabbed his companion under the chin, and gazed into her optics. "Gimme some sugar, baby," he purred, but the femme wrapped her hand around his mouth before he bent her nearly to the floor. He let her go, and she landed unceremoniously on her skidplate, laughing all the while.

Jazz started snickering, the echo of ribald humor coming off him in waves. "I love that movie," he said to no one. From her place next to the saboteur, Razorsharp began to giggle, earning her a shocked glance from Perceptor.

Rodimus, however, missed the exchange, since all his attention was on the newcomers. He took a step forward, arms crossed over his chestplate. "Looks like you two took your preparatory studies of Earth culture seriously," he said casually.

The mech immediately gave a hand up to the femme, who scrambled to her feet. "Yes, sir," she said, the picture of sobriety. "Cobalt Blue and Quartermile reporting for Sympathetic Training as ordered, sir."

"And Powerglide," put in the first voice, which belonged to a stocky, red-and-silver Minibot with a battlemask covering the lower half of his faceplate. "I don't know what possessed the powers that be to let these two go together," he said, jerking a thumb at the silent pair as he stepped up to Rodimus, "but Primus help us all. Rodimus, Jazz, good to see ya. Hiya, Perceptor."

Jazz grinned. "Hey, 'Glide! Gonna get to see that sweet thang of yours this trip?"

The little Autobot shuffled his feet nervously. "Aw, knock it off, willya?"

Rodimus turned to regard Powerglide with a kind smile. "How _is_ Astoria?" Behind the young Prime's back, Cobalt Blue made kissing noises at Powerglide until Quartermile bumped her with his elbow.

"Eh, well, she's all right," Powerglide stammered. "She got a divorce a few months ago."

Jazz yelped out a catcall. "Go get 'er, tiger!" He hugged Powerglide around the shoulders. "That girl doesn't stand a chance."

Razorsharp was giggling in earnest now. "No, indeed," she chimed in, and now it was Rodimus' turn to stare at the Deceptifemme in surprise.

Perceptor came forward, scanner in hand. "Are you feeling well, Lady Razorsharp?" He waved the scanner over her. "Hmm. I can detect no abnormality..."

Tearing his gaze away from Razor with effort, Rodimus put a hand on Perceptor's arm and gently pushed the scanner away. "We're all present and accounted for, Perceptor. What do you say we get this show on the road?"

With a last glance at Razorsharp-at a _smiling_ Razorsharp-Perceptor tucked away the scanner. "Ahem, yes. Well, if you will all please step this way."

* * *

After the shuttle came to a smooth landing at Autobot City, Perceptor exited the shuttle, a large, flat box in his hands. He smiled down into the box. "Everyone all right?"

The six humans, all wearing body armor, helmets, and harnessed into their seats, glanced up at the towering Autobot scientist. "Just fine, Perceptor," said Rodimus, shielding his sky-blue eyes from the sun with a gloved hand. "How about the rest of you?"

Jazz pulled off his glove and grinned at the light brown cast to his human skin. "Nice paint job, Perceptor."

"I'm not quite sure what happened, Jazz," Perceptor mused. "However, you're not the first subject who has displayed that result; Blaster has also experienced a similar phenomenon."

Powerglide, whose stockiness had translated to his human form, kicked a booted toe toward an olive-skinned woman. "How about you, Razor, are you okay?"

Razorsharp, who looked as if she might be sick at any moment, slowly opened eyes that were as deep and dark as the human energy source known as 'chocolate'. "I have been better," she said carefully, wincing as Perceptor began climbing the stairs to the main level of Metroplex.

Jazz reached out and patted her hand. "It's all right, girl," he soothed, winking at her from over the top of his sleek sunglasses. "You're doin' fine."

Razor gave him a grateful, if slightly weary, smile. "_Paldies, J'has_."

"She means 'thank you,'" Rodimus supplied automatically, with an amused smile of his own.

Cobalt Blue wriggled her small, wiry body in her seat. "Primus, this harness is uncomfortable," she muttered, her freckled face screwed up into a pained grimace. "Humans are too pliable. And these things," she groused, putting her hands over her curved Kevlar chestplate, "are getting in my way."

"I dunno, Cobey," mused her companion, who had turned out to be tall and lanky. "They please _my_ optics."

She shot him a withering glare from emerald-green eyes. "That's because you're glitched, Q."

Quartermile clutched a hand to his chest and sang, badly: "'_Shot through the heart, and you're to blame! Darlin', you give love a bad name!_"

"That was playin' just before Optimus handed Megatron his aft at Sherman Dam," Jazz grinned. "How about this one: _Just a small town girl, livin' in her lonely world, she took the midnight train goin' anywhere..._" His voice was much smoother and melodic than Quartermile's, and it warmed something inside Razor to hear it.

"I, too, listened to the sample disc of Earth music," she put in. She closed her eyes and sang in a clear voice:

_Quando sono sola  
Sogno all'orizzonte  
E mancan le parole,  
Si lo so che non c'è luce  
In una stanza quando manca il sole,  
Se non ci sei tu con me, con me...  
_

She trailed off, noticing that the queasy motion of Perceptor's progress had stopped. Opening her eyes, she looked at the rest of the group to see them all regarding her with varying degrees of shock and wonder.

Jazz was the first to break the silence. "That's some set o'pipes you got there, Lady."

"Indeed," rumbled a bass voice from above, and the six humans looked up into the face of Optimus Prime. "That was beautiful, your Ladyship. I was the one who suggested the inclusion of that piece." The flexible metal around his optics crinkled, and she knew he was smiling. "It's one of my favorites."

Razorsharp found her cheeks growing hot. "Thank you, Optimus Prime."

Rodimus smiled up into the faceplate of his mentor. "Is everything set up for the meeting?"

"We were just waiting for you to arrive," Optimus nodded. "In here, Perceptor."

"Wow," said Cobalt Blue, gazing in awe at the soaring bulkheads. "This place sure looks different."

"It's big anyway," said Quartermile. "Now I know what the human workers feel like."

"The armor you are wearing is standard issue for all humans who work in Autobot sectors," Optimus explained, as they entered a well-lit hallway. "There's also a height and mass restriction on Autobots who are allowed to go into non-armored sectors." He placed his palm on the scanner of a set of double doors, then ushered Perceptor inside. "You can leave your kits here. The meeting is set to begin in ten minutes. Roddy, you're with me."

Rodimus Prime unhooked himself from the harness and shouldered his pack. "See you all in a few." He stepped into Optimus' hand, and the big Autobot carefully lifted him from the transport case.

As the doors closed behind Optimus' blocky frame, Perceptor gently laid the box on the floor. "There you are. You can make use of the replicator if you need nourishment. I'll see you all at the meeting."

"All ashore that's goin' ashore!" Jazz sang out, and Quartermile and Cobalt unhooked themselves with a war whoop of joy. Powerglide followed suit, easing his broad shoulders inside his armor. He unlatched the chin strap of his helmet and raked a hand through his close-cropped reddish hair. "Need some help, Razor?"

"I think I can manage," she muttered, worrying at the clasp of her harness. "Ah! Got it." She climbed out of the padded seat and threw her arms wide, stretching her lithe form. "Primus, that feels wonderful!" She, too, unlatched her helmet, and shook out long waves of shining, blue-black hair. "Much better."

"Man, it's good to be back on solid ground," said Jazz, slipping off his helmet with a groan. His hair, however, was short and close to his scalp, and did not look the worse for wear from being inside his helmet for the eight-hour trip from Cybertron.

Cobalt had succeeded in tying her piles of red curls back with a rubber band she'd found in her kit. "Hey, I'm _starving_," she moaned.

Powerglide walked up to a scaled-down version of the replicators they used at home. "Five, please," he told it, and was rewarded with five cups of glowing energon. He passed them around, and then raised his cup. "Well, guys-a toast to our first trip to Earth."

They clinked cups and drank deeply. "Oh, that's _good stuff_," said Quartermile.

"I was wondering how this special formula would taste," Razor mused. "It's quite refreshing."

Jazz tossed back the last of his cup and set the empty back into the replicator. "Roddy said it used to taste like slag until Spike suggested that it should come in different flavors. I think mine was tutti-fruity." He sniffed the contents of Powerglide's. "You've got...mashed potatoes and gravy. Razor, lemme see yours-ooh, you got a good one; that's peppermint."

"Hmm." She rolled the idea around in her head as the flavor lingered in her mouth. "I like it."

Quartermile and Cobalt Blue crowded around the saboteur. "What'd we get?" Cobalt Blue asked excitedly.

Jazz plied his olfactory sensors to the dregs of both cups in succession. "Q, yours is...cheeseburger. Cobey got..." He tipped his head back with a grin. "Chocolate cream pie."

Cobalt Blue gave Jazz a puzzled frown. "That's good, isn't it?"

"It's one of the most requested," said Jazz. "Right after 'french fry'."

"Ha! I win." Cobalt Blue did a victory dance, singing "Go Cobey, go Cobey, it's your birthday" under her breath.

Powerglide rolled his eyes at the antics of his teammate, then let out a sigh. "Well, I'm getting outta this get-up," he said, plunking one finger on his chestplate. "Boys to the left and girls to the right," he called, shouldering his pack and heading to the changing area.

Cobalt was still dancing when Jazz tapped her on the shoulder. "I hate to break up the party," he said dryly, "but this concludes today's episode of American Bandstand." He shot a smirk at Quartermile, and the tall human blushed at being caught staring at Cobalt's gyrations. "You too, hot shot. Show's over."

The pair of younglings duly shuffled off to their respective corners, leaving Jazz and Razorsharp to watch them go. After a moment, Jazz sighed and shouldered his pack. "Well, that's our cue, too, your Ladyship." He turned to go.

"Wait just a moment, _J'has_," Razorsharp called.

The coffee-skinned saboteur turned around to regard her from over his shades, cocking one eyebrow in question.

"I...I want to thank you," she said quietly. "You have already been of invaluable assistance to me in this undertaking."

He grinned and pushed his shades back onto his face. "_Navpar'ko,_" he replied, and continued on his way. "That means 'you're welcome!'" he called back over his shoulder.

Razorsharp could only stare at his retreating back, her lips parting in a slow smile.

* * *

Rodimus met them at the door to the meeting room. "Everyone ready?"

Five heads nodded; five pairs of eyes gleamed brightly back at him.

"Then let's go."

The group turned to go into the meeting, but Quartermile hung back. "Oh, wait, Razor can't go in looking like that!" he exclaimed, as Razorsharp turned to frown quizzically at him. "Cobey, do you have the badge?"

The redhead nodded. "Yeah, she has to wear the female one. Here, take mine. I'm sure there's a spare just in case." She opened a pocket of her black flight suit and handed Razor a small box. "It's customary to wear one of these on your first trip to Earth. That way everyone knows to take it easy with you, since you're still getting used to stuff."

Razor blanched. "I was not informed of this procedure."

"You mean it wasn't in your kit?" asked Cobalt, eyes wide. She and Quartermile exchanged a glance. "Dang, we're gonna have to mention this to Perceptor. It could cause an interstellar incident."

"Here, let's make sure you wear it correctly." Quartermile opened the box, and they set to work.

Jazz, Rodimus, and Powerglide took their places at a scaled-down table at Optimus' right hand just as the members of the Council filed in. "Where are the others?" Rodimus murmured.

Jazz, his shades on the table in front of him, seemed to be extremely interested in the contents of his meeting folder. "They'll be along any minute now."

Cobalt and Quartermile appeared, with Razorsharp in tow. The Deceptifemme seemed to be having trouble navigating the terrain, and dropped into her chair next to Jazz with a sigh.

"My apologies, everyone. This badge is making it difficult to see." She made a puffing noise. "And it...irritates my olfactory sensory array."

Rodimus turned to see what was bothering Razor, and his words died on his lips. Quartermile and Cobalt were snickering, and Powerglide quelled the beginnings of a laugh into a cough. The other Autobots were beginning to chuckle, and even Optimus showed signs of amusement above his battlemask.

Finally, Jazz could stand it no longer. He threw his head back and howled with laughter at the Groucho Marx glasses, plastic nose and fuzzy moustache perched on Razor's face.

"What are you-" Razor's hand slowly came up to her face, and she pulled off the 'badge' the younglings had so kindly bestowed upon her. She threw it on the table, and the assembly fell silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, Razor broke out in peals of laughter.

* * *

When the meetings concluded, the group went out to the landing pad to see Powerglide off. After the shuttle had departed, Cobalt and Quatermile trooped back inside to taste more flavors of energon, and Rodimus excused himself, pleading an engagement with the Witwickys. Jazz and Razorsharp stood at the railing of the command center, watching the sunset flare and fade in the western sky.

The wind blew a lock of her hair into Razor's face, and she brushed it away. Jazz turned from the view to regard her with a smile. "Penny for your thoughts," he said.

She frowned at him for a moment, and then nodded in understanding. "You wish to know what I was thinking, yes." She cast one last look at the deepening shadows of Metroplex, and then turned her face to the sky. "Cybertron is far away from here."

Jazz took off his shades and stuck them into a pocket, and then he too stared into the expanse of indigo above them. "Yeah, it is. Back in the day, I thought I'd never see it again." He cracked a lopsided grin. "Except when Megs brought it to Earth's orbit. Long story," he said, at her look of puzzlement.

She smiled. "One I would like to hear," she murmured. "If you would like to tell it."

He shook his head. "Naw, not really."

"My apologies."

"'s okay. It's not a happy story, really, other than the fact that Cybertron and the Earth are still around." He glanced up at her. "But you can tell ME a story."

She blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah, you." Jazz took her hands into his. "Like...how you always laugh when I'm around. Roddy said you're usually a big ol' sourpuss. What's up with that?"

Razor felt her cheeks growing hot again; she would have to speak to Rodimus Prime. "You...you have joy, _J'has_," she began, noticing how the colors of their skin made a pleasing contrast. "I am an empath-I can sense emotions if they are strong, and yours are..." She searched for the right word. "... _Lavish_. Extravagant. Undeniable."

For once, the saboteur was silent.

"You _love_ with everything you are," Razor continued. "You _hope_ with every fiber of your being." She raised her face to the fading light, and nip of the wind told her that her cheeks were wet. "Emotions that strong cannot help but affect everyone around you." She laughed softly. "Even an 'ol' sourpuss' such as myself."

To her shock, Jazz pulled her into his arms and held her. When he spoke, his own voice was soft and slightly ragged.

"Thanks for reminding me," he murmured into her hair.

"Hey, you guys!" The pair turned to see Quartermile standing in the doorway, a mug of energon in each of his hands. "You guys gotta try the 'cottage cheese' flavor! And the 'birthday cake' one is AWESOME!"

"Hey, Q, come on-I just found a new one!" Cobalt Blue ran to the door with a mug in her hand, and she exchanged it for one of Quartermile's. "It's called _borscht_."

"Cool!" Quartermile followed her inside. "I tried one called 'baked beans' just a minute ago."

Jazz and Razorsharp laughed, and went to join the party.

**END**

**

* * *

**AN: Lyrics from: 'You Give Love a Bad Name', Bon Jovi; 'Don't Stop Believin'', Journey; 'Time to Say Goodbye', Sarah Brightman.**  
**


	10. Greedy: Temptation Waits

AN: Inspired partly by "Temptation Waits" by Garbage.

**Greedy Razorsharp**  
_featuring Optimus Prime_

"I'm sorry, Razorsharp."

His apology was something she felt more than heard, his bass tones rumbling along her armor as they stood together among the trees.

She raised her head to look over his shoulder; the Oregon sky was spangled with a million stars. One of those stars was Cybertron, the metallic planet shining in Sol's light. On that planet was Iacon, the capital city, and in one of Iacon's towers-maybe even now looking upon the bright star of Earth, and thinking of her lover-was Elita-1.

And yet, here he stood with Razorsharp. He still held her to him, silently telling of his own reluctance to let her go, to let this end.

Razorsharp remained silent, her hand resting possessively against the warm, flat grillwork at his waist. _Let him judge the sincerity of __**that**_, she thought.

He sighed, his fingers unconsciously tracing her main neural cable in the small of her back. "Promises I made...so long ago." He shrugged. "I can't go back on them." He moved his hands to either side of her face, making her look up into his optics. "Not even for you."

She said nothing, but returned his gaze calmly, like a sphinx.

With an anguished noise deep in his chest, Optimus wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "What is it that you want from me?" he whispered.

Deliberately, she pushed away from him and took a step back. "Something that you can never give."

With that, she turned and walked away.

"Razor-"

She did not turn, and kept walking.

This time, he did not follow.

**-END-**


	11. Transforming: Call of the Wild

**Transforming Razorsharp**  
_featuring Rodimus, Optimus, and a wolf_

A huge metallic she-wolf was bearing down on him, and Rodimus jumped out of the way before the wolf could plant one of its massive paws in his chest.

"Out of the way, Autobot," the wolf snarled, never breaking stride as it made a beeline for the exterior door.

The Prince Prime stared after the retreating figure. "What's her problem?" he asked, as he came to stand beside Optimus at the viewing window. "I've come to expect cold and aloof from Her Ladyship, but never outright rudeness."

"I don't know, Rodimus," the elder Prime rumbled, as they watched Razorsharp speed off into the gathering dusk. "I'm worried about her."

Rodimus laughed. "You're worried about Razorsharp? You'd be in a world of hurt if she heard you say that. She can more than take care of herself."

Optimus shook his head. "She's distracted, and that's never a good sign."

They stood together in companionable silence for a moment until Rodimus spoke, his titanium brow creased in thought. "You know, I just realized something-I can count on two hands the number of times I've seen Razor in her alt mode."

"I know," agreed Optimus. "That's one of the things that's puzzling me."

* * *

Far beyond the room where the two mechs talked, Razorsharp bounded along the starlit forest path, the sensitive living metal of her paws adapting to the terrain in order to drive her forward more efficiently. At the top of a rise, she gave a long, low howl.

A shadow detatched itself from the darkness, and two topaz-yellow eyes gleamed from the midst of the inky night. A lone male wolf, larger than her alt. mode, padded silently toward the metallic figure, and it seemed to Razor that the creature wore nobility like a mantle about its massive shoulders.

Her fuel pump was jittering in her chest so loud that she was sure it would scare him off. The ebony-coated male regarded her solemnly; he had lost his mate that spring to one of the humans' guns, and their defenseless cubs had been carried off while the male was out hunting. Razorsharp had seen him from a distance while on a midnight ramble, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Now, she feared it was more than curiosity that drove her to seek him out.

Unafraid, the male stepped forward and slid his muzzle against her neck, and her every servo trembled in response.

**-END-**


	12. Playing With Kids: War Games

**Playing with Kids Razorsharp**

_featuring Lady Moonhawke's Raven, Cerise, and Peregrine_

"Can you see her, Cherry?"

Two pairs of blue optics peeped around the wall.

"I don't see _anything_, Perry."

"Me either."

"Well we can't stay here," whispered Cerise. She grabbed her microns-younger twin by the hand. "Come on."

Silently the two Autobot sparklings crept along the corridor, audios pricked for the tiniest sound.

They rounded a corner-and found themselves face to face with a huge silver-grey metallic she-wolf.

"Eep!" squeaked Cerise.

"Aha!" said the wolf, ruby optics glowing. "I have you now!"

"_Run!_" shrieked Peregrine, and pulled his sister back the way they came. Together they ran pell-mell down the hallway, flailing and screaming.

"Haha!" The wolf bounded lightly down the hall, swatting at their heels with a massive paw. "You can't escape _Rachacharv'sururie,_ 'bright-blade-that-chases-you'!"

"Aaaaahhh!" screamed Cerise. "She's gonna get me, Perry! I don't think I can make it-" She stumbled and fell flat, moaning feebly as the wolf pounced on her.

Peregrine let out an anguished wail. "NO! Cherry!"

The wolf and the small, deep-pink Autobot wrestled on the floor in a growling, giggling tangle. Finally, Cerise rolled over onto her back, one arm thrown theatrically over her optics.

"Till...all...are...one," she gasped out, and lay still.

Razorsharp let out a howl of victory. "Such is the fate of all Autobots who oppose me!"

Peregrine brandished a toy pistol, his optics narrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. "Say goodnight, _Decepticreep!_"

The wolf lowered its head with a growl. "Foolish Autobot! Now I come for you!"

The pistol lit up with a blue glow. "Not today, Decepticon! POW! POW!" Peregrine clicked the trigger twice, and the wolf sprawled to an undignified stop.

"Grraggghh!" she choked. "I'm hit! Oh, the agony!" She rolled over onto her side and feebly raised her head. "Great and noble warrior," she whispered.

Peregrine put the pistol down and walked over to his vanquished foe. "Yes?"

"Grant me your forgiveness," the wolf wheezed. "I know no other way."

"You are forgiven," said Peregrine solemnly, placing his hand upon the wolf's head. "Go to Primus, brave soldier."

"Honor...and...glory..." The Decepticon's optics blinked off, and the wolf's head rolled to the side and lay still.

There was solemn silence for a few moments before Cerise's muffled words broke in.

"She's dead, Perry. Can we please play something else now?"

One of the wolf's optics frittered to life. "Eh?"

Peregrine sighed. "Well, I suppose so. Dead Decepticons are kind of boring."

The wolf sprang up with a snarl and toppled Peregrine to the floor. "Ahaha, she lives!"

Peregrine burst out into a flurry of giggles. Cerise flung herself at them, and all three went rolling in a cacophony of laughter.

* * *

"_That's_ their favorite game?" said Raven, her words edged with distaste. "'Kill the Decepticon'?"

"Peregrine Maximae seems to enjoy it," said Razorsharp, as they watched the children play with Destiny and Velocity, Razorsharp's young daughters. "Cerise not as much, but she will play along."

Raven shuddered. "From the beginning we teach them to hate each other. I thought we were supposed to be beyond this now."

"It is in their culture, it is in their stories. They hear of it everywhere: Autobot versus Decepticon." Razorsharp smiled. "Take heart-we are trying to change that."

"Not fast enough to suit me," Raven mused.

"Nor I," Razorsharp agreed. "The point is that we began-even if we still have a long distance to go." She nodded in the direction of the children. "Look, Raven. Our hopes come to life: Decepticons playing with Autobots."

"But they're children." Raven shook her head. "I'm afraid that once they're grown, they'll learn to hate each other."

Razorsharp laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "All the more reason to persevere in our cause."

**-END-**


End file.
